The Jungle
by Charlotte A. Cavatica
Summary: Bagheera had been staving it off for days, but he'd reached the point where there was nothing left to do: he wanted to get laid.  Baloo/Bagheera, former Bagheera/Shere Khan.  M for implications, no smut. Set in UrbanCowgirl804's Walt Disney High universe.


"Baloo Sangita, you disreputable bum!"

"Get off my back, Baghee, it's a two-hour difference!"

"And I'm here in case your students come in? This is ridiculous—you can't simply foist it off on me! What if I weren't here?"

"You're always here, I'm surprised you don't keep a bed under the desk. Stop worryin', Baghee, I'll take care of this!"

"Like you took care of Junior Hathi when he went through his rebellious phase? As I recall, the nose piercing was an idea of yours, wasn't it?"

"I just said some people did it! Anyway, the Colonel would've shipped him off to military school whether he wanted to go or not! Can't a guy make one mistake?"

"Not with the children!"

"Look, I've got my leave, I'm going. I'll see you around, Bagheera."

"Don't think you've heard the end of this! We're going to talk about this later!"

Baloo shouldered his messenger bag and grumbled, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie jacket. "Man, if ever a guy needed to get laid…"

* * *

><p>Bagheera Kala wanted to get laid.<p>

It had taken days to reach this point, and as he stood outside his townhouse, shifting his takeout into the crook of his elbow, the other arm holding his briefcase, and fumbled for his keys, he realized that he couldn't deny it any more.

He'd done everything he could think of to stave off the matter, not wanting to be bothered with the messy business of dating—after all, one-night stand was simply not an option for him. He was a good Indian boy, if queer as a wooden shilling, and he wouldn't just use someone like that.

Bagheera slipped in and sat on the bench just inside the door, smiling slightly and sighing as his twin black kittens, Priya and Rani, came to greet him. He pulled off his shoes and rubbed the back of his neck, rolling his shoulders luxuriously.

He curled his lip a bit at the state of the living room. His housemate was an old friend of his, Baloo Sangita, and they'd never really managed to agree on the cleanliness level that was necessary for a well-running household. Baloo subsisted on what he called the 'bare necessities,' which essentially meant spending money on food and rent and almost nothing else—it was a nightmare getting him out to buy clothes. Baloo was something of a slacker, and a huge fan of music. There were vinyl records on every surface, and Bagheera collected them and stacked them in a pile, freeing the sofa and end tables from the clutter.

But back to the problem at hand. Something deep down in his bones was aching. He was wan and tired and totally unattractive, and he wanted to feel sexy. He wanted to be sexy again. He wanted to tempt, to prowl out and smirk and have someone's eyes unable to move off of him. He wanted to move, to rock and slide and dance, even, and he was a serious man. Dancing was something he hardly ever did.

He'd done very well to try to avoid the feeling. Raw physicality could not possibly be the problem; he'd spent extra time exercising for weeks, releasing enormous amounts of tension on the track and on the rock climb. He'd channeled whatever appetite he could productively, treating himself to small, more reasonably sensual pleasures during the week: a fresh haircut not two days, a new set of ridiculously luxurious black satin sheets, and now, most forbidden of all, a thick, succulent steak, a specimen of the red meat variety that would have his poor mother spinning in her grave, if she knew her son was going to eat it. He realized belatedly that the efforts individually had been futile, but together, they put him entirely in the right mood for adventure of the romantic type.

It was Friday, and he was reaching the end of his rope. Nothing was working. He wanted sex, and he wanted it badly. It was horrible for him to be losing control like this, when he prided himself so much on being composed, clear-headed, and logical.

Bagheera set his place at the table primly, smiling lovingly at his meal. He was ready to thank his lucky stars that Baloo was always out on Friday nights—running into his big bear of a housemate would only result in 'borrowed' bites of his steak and awkward conversation. It could be hard enough at work to keep his friend from getting any hint of what was bothering him—for all that he floated through life, following his own fancy, Baloo could be unnervingly insightful.

Bagheera knew what he was, and he never needed to hide it, but it simply wasn't something he talked about. He was happy with himself, pleased with the way he'd turned out, especially compared with some people he knew, and even worked with. He was firmly out of the closet, but he wasn't flashy or overly flamboyant, or oversexed to the point of absurdity…

No, oversexed was definitely not his problem, he thought with a little scowl. God, when was the last time he'd even…

The scowl deepened. As if he could ever forget. The last time he'd been with someone had been Shere Khan, and that was a year ago, now.

Now there had been a relationship doomed to hideous failure. They'd been friends once—they'd even grown up in the same city, along with Baloo. There had been a period of time when they'd been practically living in each other's pockets, and what they'd lacked in real connection they'd more than made up in a constant, slightly flirtatious acquaintanceship.

Since nearly the moment Bagheera had sixteen, the sexual tension between him and Shere Khan, his elder by three years, had been incredibly pronounced. Something about the way Khan had shot up and filled out, big and broad-shouldered, with those strong, pronounced features and unusual, gorgeous coloring, and the way he'd carried himself, smooth and sensual and oh-so deliberate (and, oh gracious, that voice, ooh, that had haunted a dream or two), had just caught Bagheera's attention and never let it wander far.

Then Bagheera had been picked up and moved to America, torn out of the sweltering bosom of India and away from friends he'd known from infancy. He'd managed to stay in touch with Baloo, and drop hints about American universities, which led to their reconnecting years later.

But Shere Khan had disappeared completely from his radar, only to slink back onto the scene hardly five years ago. What had been the great unrequited lust of Bagheera's life had been totally eclipsed by the pleasant torment of having the large, scrumptious, utterly civilized man settling in America, in Bagheera's own adopted city. Time had only been good to Shere Khan. Once more they'd been thrust together, running into each other everywhere, privately and professionally.

It had only been a matter of time until Bagheera had reached the limits of his resistance. After that, all he'd done was offer several precisely-calculated seductive smirks and carefully casual, innocent touches, and he'd had the enormous satisfaction of watching Shere Khan's eyes gleam and his mouth turn upwards in that carnivorous grin. He'd been invited home for a proper meal, and found himself being devoured.

Unfortunately, the bedroom had been the only place where he and Khan ever really got along. Bagheera was far too stubborn, too stiff and upright to the other man, whose perfect social grace masked an unstable moral structure. Khan was vicious, manipulative, ruthless, and completely self-centered. He took pains to hide it, but it came out in small gestures—the reckless disregard for the speed limit in school zones, the brusque dismissal of any sort of charity, the hastily-stifled snickers of intense schadenfreude, the thinly-veiled contempt of Bagheera's own softer-hearted moments. These were tiny hints, and what they suggested was nothing truly hideous, but they made Bagheera's instincts sit up and take note. When combined with the simple fact that he and Khan had nothing outside of a fantastic sex life in common, it made him wary and uncomfortable.

Their affair had lasted almost a year before Bagheera broke it off. Shere Khan had taken the news with as much immaculate good grace and artfully applied concern as he'd expected, but he'd firmly established that their differences were irreconcilable. There was nothing to be done—it just wasn't working—there just wasn't any real passion in the relationship. For all their carnal communication, Bagheera couldn't help but feel as if he wasn't really wanted. Shere Khan didn't seem to crave his company. He didn't want to lounge lazily through a Saturday together, or watch films, or argue about politics and music and...everything, or try to make Bagheera smile or even laugh; if Bagheera wanted that, he had to come home to Baloo.

The cold break was almost worse than a raging, ugly fight would've been; at least that would've indicated that Shere Khan cared about what little they did have. Bagheera, despite being the instigator, and despite being happy to be free again, felt beaten and hollow. For so much of his life, he could remember wanting to get closer to the other man, and trying and failing had exhausted him. It had been so much wasted time.

Baloo had been extremely decent about it. Shere Khan was not a subject he and Bagheera ever plainly discussed, but…for heavens' sakes, they lived in the same house, and Bagheera had his foot firmly down about sneaking around or being ashamed about his personal life. If Baloo hadn't known what was going on, at least a little, Bagheera would've been worried about his friend's basic powers of perception.

"Geez, Baghee," Baloo had said, "I'm real sorry about this whole thing." He'd come home late one Saturday night to find his friend steadily working his way through a bottle of truly awful red wine. Half-soused and pleasantly numb to anything like emotional pain, Bagheera had spilled out the whole matter of the break-up, thinking it only decent to apprise his friend of the facts. They'd have to have the conversation sooner or later, and they might as well have it now, when he was relaxed. "I kinda knew you two were goin' out, but I didn't know it was serious."

Bagheera had laughed sourly. How could he tell Baloo that it wasn't serious, at all? The last thing he wanted was to admit that he'd been little more than an extremely cultured booty call. Baloo didn't need to know that, and Bagheera would rather jab a pencil in his eye than explain all the torrid details. It wasn't something a man like Bagheera discussed, not even with his best friend.

"Don't worry, buddy. There's plenty good fish in the sea. We'll find you a great new boyfriend, somebody who'll make ol' Shere Khan kick himself for lettin' a star like you get away."

The ridiculous idea of Khan being jealous over him, much less ever consenting to being called anyone's 'boyfriend,' was enough to take the bitter element out of the evening. Baloo helped him finish the wine, and was mercifully quiet until mid-afternoon as Bagheera rued his unusual over-indulgence.

Of course, this was all old news, he ruminated as he finished his steak. It had been at least a year since the excitement of those flashing eyes and that hungry, desirous smile, and there hadn't been so much as a nibble of interest since. Bagheera had buried himself in work, being fed up entirely with romantic entanglements, and hadn't surfaced but slowly, and only in the last month.

And now…now there was an urge burning in his skin that just wouldn't let him be.

Bagheera held himself firm and upright as he did his dishes and retired to his room. There, he spent a few moments in his closet, before taking a quick shower. He fairly slid into a fresh outfit, something a little more relaxed than his work clothes, but still in his typical black-on-black theme. With pale skin (god, he'd paled since he'd come to this cool, cloudy city) and hazel eyes, and jet-black hair, he supposed he could've worn anything, but black always looked best to him. Black could be formal, professional, or casual. Or even sexy.

It was definitely sexy he was going for tonight. He'd left a bit of a five o'clock shadow around his jaw and chin, liking the slight ruggedness of the look. It wouldn't do for work, but for now… He'd pulled on what essentially amounted to a black muscle shirt, tight black jeans, and a pair of sleek black boots, and he looked at himself critically in the mirror, combing back his hair.

He looked…well, he looked good. Casual, of course—he mussed his hair—a little unkempt, tousled, and with the muscle shirt showing off a good amount of skin and the jeans giving a few broad hints about his physique, even a little bit slutty. He smiled. That was fine with him…if his greatest sin was looking a little bit slutty once in a blue moon, he could certainly handle it. If he had any luck, he'd fit right in, where he was going.

He fed the cats and emerged into the clean air of a sultry evening, taking a deep breath before he slid behind the wheel of his car. This would be fun. He was going out and he was going to meet new people.

He swallowed back a little flutter of nerves and started the engine.

* * *

><p>Bagheera had only ever been to The Jungle once or twice before, but it had impressed him. In his younger, only-slightly-wilder days, he'd made a tour of gay bars in the city, and as a result he knew just about every one, by reputation if not by face. (Though he disapproved of gossip in a general sense, Monsieur Lumiere's whispered, giggling news about Professor Cogsworth inadvertently hanging out at Finland Tom's had actually had him laughing for several minutes.) The Jungle was his favorite out of the bunch—a clean, rather classy establishment, down-to-earth enough in its way, with room for a band, a bar, a few booths, and a dance floor.<p>

It was all he wanted at the moment. It was almost certain to be off the radar of anyone else he knew, who might frequent the place. Baloo would almost definitely never dream of wandering over there, unless there was a particularly swinging band—after all, as far as Bagheera knew, his housemate was straight. And as much as he appreciated his other friends, the last thing he wanted was to be seen in club clothes. If they all thought he slept and showered in a long-sleeve shirt and tie, well, that wouldn't displease him unduly.

He parked in a public lot and made his way over at a relaxed pace, enjoying the fresh weather of early night. The streets weren't busy, per se, but steady, and he hoped that there would be a good selection tonight. He expected nothing more than an evening of dancing, maybe a phone number or two, or a drink bought for him, if he was lucky. Maybe he could get this out of his system with just a little reintroduction to the dating scene—enough to get his feet wet, as it were.

There was no line at the door, and he chatted amicably with the bouncer. Ten dollars got him in, and he surveyed the scene with a slight smirk, pleased with what he saw. It looked like a good night—the dance floor was packed with dancing men of all colors and shapes. Even the booths were occupied. He was about to slink over to the bar and ask for something soft, when he heard the band start their next song.

Oh. Bagheera didn't consider himself particularly susceptible to music—he was completely un-artistic himself, and never had the inclination to try either producing music or dancing. But this…he almost wished Baloo were here. The big man would've loved this; he was going through a swing phase at the moment, and this…oh, this was a band that could break hearts. It had a fast beat, a boisterous, party-perfect tempo, something about it just getting into his hips and shoulders and making him want to _move._

Bagheera slipped right into the thick of the floor, feeling himself starting to let loose. He closed his eyes, letting his body rock and sway to the beat. When was the last time he'd done this? When was the last time he'd let himself get lost in a crowd of attractive strangers, forced himself out into the open, put himself in connection with others by the simple means of sharing music and movement? His dignity was so precious to him, his composure his most prized possession, but…he could almost understand Baloo in a moment like this, when nothing mattered but a certain animal instinct, guiding him to release himself from his restraint and his inhibitions.

Of course, he'd never let himself get carried away. That would be dangerous…adventurous…maybe even fun…but he couldn't bear it. No, no, no. He was an upstanding member of the community, and he'd never take a rare opportunity to simply satisfy his base urges with some handsome, passionate stranger set on debauching him…

His next thought wiped all the attraction from that thought. It was precisely that situation that he'd gotten out of with Shere Khan: a handsome man, practically a stranger, for all Bagheera really knew about him, who had indeed been set on debauching him. The memories smoldered with a kind of low, intense bitter-sweetness. Shere Khan had been ultimately a mistake, but he had to admit, for all the resentment and disappointment, he'd been an incredible mistake to make.

Enough of that. He wasn't here to think about Shere Khan. He was here to be looked at, danced with, desired. He could force himself to be modest if he had to be, but…frankly, he was a handsome man. Young and very well-kept, if he did say so himself, and he looked sexy. Damn it, he _was_ sexy. Just because he didn't have someone to confirm it didn't mean it wasn't true.

Bagheera looked around, scoping out the scene he'd found himself in. Oh, how perfect. He'd managed to get himself surrounded by larger men on almost all sides. He had to struggle to keep a low, deep purr in his throat; he liked big. He always had. Something about a large frame just got his mind reeling…he liked a man that looked like a man. Hair and muscles and strength. Bagheera licked his lips. This was going _so_ well.

* * *

><p>"Pray, my dear friend," drawled the larger man as he sipped his Scotch neat, "tell me what the cause is of this rather unbecoming pity-party."<p>

His companion gave him a brief, venomous glare. "I celebrate the birth of my sister-in-law's first child."

"Ah, hence the champagne cocktail. Well, what beastly luck." Genuine sympathy was not even an afterthought. "I suppose that does throw your game a bit, doesn't it?"

"Hardly. It's just one more thing to dispose of. One more obstacle. But I am equal to the challenge," he replied, nursing his Bellini. He scanned the room, lifting an eyebrow to see a new arrival.

He rather liked black. And this newcomer wore it well…certainly better than the mob of woefully imperfect specimens out on the floor now.

"Obviously," said the Scotch drinker, sounding distracted. The other man followed his gaze and smirked, pleased to know that he wasn't alone in admiration. He waited patiently until his companion gave him a cool, polite look, and he rolled his eyes towards their mutual interest.

"Perhaps a consolation prize is in order," he purred. It was the larger man's turn to glare.

"I could hardly suggest it."

"Could you indeed." He licked the rim of his glass, catching a bit of peach-flavored champagne.

"I am familiar with him."

"Are you casting aspersions?"

"A gentleman does not kiss and tell."

Unable to resist, he grinned ferally. "But of course. My, my, the lengths one must go to, to be taken into your confidence…" They exchanged a platonically smutty look and watched the newcomer slide effortlessly into the crowd.

"Mm," one said thoughtfully, licking his lips to free them of peachy champagne. The Scotch drinker shook his head.

"I caution you for your own good," he said with a cruel little smile. "He'd break you in half."

The last person who had made a statement like that was tenderly hand-processed worm food. He grinned, flashing all his teeth, something in his expression saying 'I'm going to murder you in your sleep, _my dear friend.'_

Shere Khan snickered to himself and signaled to the bartender for another round. Tough love was really the only way to go.

* * *

><p>He had to take a few moments to fall in with the beat, but once he was there, he turned his attention inward, cataloguing the way it felt to move like this. He'd risen up on the balls of his feet, and the muscles in his legs stretched and flexed deliciously. His chest and abdomen were held tight and upright, letting his hips, shoulders, head, and arms move freely.<p>

Loud, brassy horns played from the stage, and he smiled to himself, rocking his hips back and forth in little shakes, shoulders rolling back and forth, his body curling side to side. Tired of bottling up, he let his hips get frisky, riding the beat from one neat curve of his body to the next. His arms rose, hands level with his face and limp, finger clicking, accentuating the flexibility of his muscles and the sinful drawl of his black clothes as they hinted at shifting, moving flesh. Bagheera grinned—this felt amazing. Just dancing felt wonderful, moving like he did it all the time, like his hips were precisely made for music and for love.

A prickle of heat rose on the back of his neck, and he tipped his head, opening heavy-lidded eyes enough to smirk out at the world. He was being watched. He leaned forward a bit with one firm sway, exercising quite a bit of control and careful attention to rhythm, flaunting and stretching his body. He couldn't help but purr as he shifted, delighted to glance innocently upward and see several broad smiles turned on him.

He was vain. He liked being wanted. He ran his tongue lightly over his teeth, grinning. Nothing pleased him like admiring glances. He knew he was susceptible to it, and he had to limit it—clouded judgment was the last thing he needed—but the last time he'd gotten his ego stroked was such a long, long time ago. He'd been good. He deserved.

Bagheera smiled, accidentally bumping a hip into a body right behind him. He looked ever so slightly over his shoulder, delighted to find that he was eye-level with another man's chest—and what an excellent specimen it was! This lovely, shameless creature had his chest bare, and the sight frankly made Bagheera's mouth water. The whole man was broad, and he was big and tall and…yes, nicely equipped in the muscular department. Bagheera tilted his head and smirked, shaking his shoulders and grinning as the man behind him mimicked the gesture.

Well, all right.

The band started up a new tune, a fast song, and they exploded into motion. It wasn't anything as sophisticated or as carefully planned as a couples' dance—it was two people moving apart to get closer, one in it for shallow, utterly self-serving reasons, the other…who knew? Probably the same! Bagheera took to looking over his shoulder with every sway, pleased to find that his partner had complimented the motion in the opposite direction. He almost jumped when the stranger bumped his hips into his ass, but he caught himself and, offering a slightly lecherous little smile, rode the motion, shifting his own body with the daring move. He turned his head towards that nice broad body, and hummed; ooh, he even smelled nice. Irish Spring and sweat and spice. Delicious.

Though the stranger seemed surprised, he never flinched when Bagheera reached for him, turning around and placing his hands on that broad chest. He hadn't looked up at his face yet, but he was moving too fast to get a good look, anyway. His partner let him run his fingertips over him, through dark hair over soft, hot skin. Bagheera prowled around to get the 360 degree view before turning back around in front to continue their slightly competitive dance, amused when those naughty hips found him again. When the song finally ended, he was panting slightly, but he took advantage of the brief pause to talk to his new acquaintance.

"Now that we've gotten to know each other, maybe we should be introduced," he purred, turning with his best smirk on. "I'm—_Baloo_!"

"No kiddin'? Me too!" As his friend laughed, Bagheera's heart sank so fast it should've dropped out of his body and landed between his feet. What was Baloo _doing here_, dressed like…that?

His housemate was wearing a grey button-up shirt, something the responsible part of Bagheera would've thrilled in, if the shirt had had any more than three buttons done. As it was, Baloo's large frame was on excellent display, his dark-haired chest brazenly exposed. Bagheera's cheeks burned fiercely—and what did he think he was doing in those pants? They were obscene! Bagheera should know; after all, during that little turn he'd gotten a great look at his rather nice butt—

Oh God, please kill him now. This was humiliating. What had he done to deserve this? Was it really so bad that he cut loose, that he had to be punished like this? Baloo was his friend, of course, and wouldn't hold it over him, but…why did he have to be so shameless? He was practically all over him! And only because he'd thought that he'd found a partner bold enough to dance with him…someone who wanted to dance with him because they thought he was…

He was ridiculous. He was…he was too uptight and serious at the best of times and now he'd made a fool of himself, exposed himself like this, all but pushed his best friend down on his back on the dance floor and straddled him! He was burning with embarrassment, realizing how utterly absurd he must look, behaving so…whorishly, and around someone he was as close to as Baloo…

He winced, and felt the reassuring flame of annoyance—irritation—no, anger, bloom in his chest. Mortification was horrible, but if he could temper it, project it out, he might manage to avoid running out of here with his tail between his legs.

He seized Baloo by one dove-grey sleeve and, gritting his teeth, dragged him out of the crowd and into the men's room. He knew that Baloo had to be coming along willingly; it would take a sumo wrestler to move Baloo if he didn't want to be moved, and Bagheera was no where near big enough to budge an unwilling inch of him. Fuming, face flushed with fury, Bagheera closed the door and turned on his friend, eyes spitting flame.

"Why didn't you tell me it was you? You just let me make a fool of myself!"

"What? No, Baghee, you were great! I—"

"You knew I didn't know it was you! I never would've…done that!"

"But I—"

"What are you even doing here? Don't you know what kind of—Baloo, I can't believe you let me humiliate myself like that!"

Baloo put two enormous hands on his shoulders, holding him down. It was probably a wise gesture: Bagheera felt angry enough to tear out his friend's throat, or at least pound futilely on his chest. "Okay now, Bagheera, just calm down. You're getting all worked up. Take a _deep_ breath for me."

Trembling with impotent fury and embarrassment, Bagheera couldn't help but do as he was told. It was times like this that some of his doubts about Baloo were erased—no wonder he was so good with his students. He knew how to talk to the distressed.

He was ready to launch back into it, to cling to anger like a security blanket, when Baloo squeezed one of his shoulders.

"Now, come on, Baghee, think. I wouldn't do somethin' like that to you. You didn't humiliate nothing; you looked great out there! I didn't know you could dance like that!"

Like a wanton. Like a sexually repressed queer man desperate for whatever he could get. Bagheera swallowed back shame and something thick and sickish, tasting far too much like misery.

"I'm…I never should've…" He wrapped his arms around himself, fury draining out of him at an alarming pace. It had been a smokescreen, and he knew it was unfair to Baloo, but he didn't want to feel this way. It was his fault that he was humiliated now—this had been a _terrible_ idea, how could he be surprised when it backfired?

His hands met bare skin and he flushed more darkly, embarrassment compounding on embarrassment. He'd do quite a lot for a sport coat, at the moment. And was he really wearing jeans this tight?

Of course he was. He shifted in mortification.

"Why're you saying a dumb thing like that?" Baloo asked, keeping a hold on him. Did he think Bagheera would bolt? The very last thing he wanted was to go back out there and face his own idiocy. "Of course you should've! I don't even know what you should've, but you definitely should've!"

Bagheera winced. "I'm…sorry for…doing that, Baloo, it was inexcusable."

Baloo huffed, blowing up shaggy bangs out of his face. He lifted one big hand and flicked Bagheera in the temple, making him jump and rub the abused spot, managing at least a dirty look. "It was not! Why are you so het up about this, man? It's a party! Quit tearin' yourself up about dancing. It's great—I do it all the time!"

You, Bagheera wanted to point out, don't grind with strange men in public. He really should've checked the show listings in the paper; a band as good as the one out there couldn't possibly escape the radar of a party-animal like Baloo, and he'd certainly gotten dressed up for the occasion.

"Now, come on, what's gettin' you down?" Baloo asked reassuringly. "You looked so happy just a few minutes ago, Baghee, and now you look like you're gonna run."

"A few minutes ago, I didn't know I was making such a fool of myself," he said quietly. He shrugged, wanting Baloo to get off his shoulder. It made him feel weak, like he might just collapse if he was given the chance. He was stronger than that! "I must've looked so ridiculous."

Baloo sighed and flicked him in the temple again, and Bagheera finally sprang into motion, snarling wordlessly and smacking him upside the head. It was hardly a blow at all, and it only made Baloo grin, but it relieved a little tension. "Now you're just bein' stupid. Did you see those guys out there? They couldn't take their eyes off you!"

His neck and cheeks stung with heat. Bagheera had known, intellectually, that Baloo had to know why he was here. He didn't just do things for spontaneity's sake—it had to be obvious that he was hunting. But he hadn't wanted him to actually call him on it.

"In fact," Baloo went on, nudging his friend in the ribs playfully, "I'm pretty sure I'd be dead, if looks could kill. Couple a' green-eyed monsters out there wishin' I'd never been born…"

Jealousy? Over him? Ridiculous. "Didn't you know it was me you were dancing with?" Bagheera asked. "I mean, I know I'm a little…unusually dressed, but…"

"Well, it took me a little minute, and I was a little surprised, but yeah, I could pretty much tell. Man, I thought you knew it was me, too."

"If you knew it was me, why would you dance with me like that?"

"When was I gonna get another chance? This is the first time I've ever seen you do it on your own—most times I gotta force you. And even then…you know I've never seen you dance like that. You were havin' fun, and it was cool to see it. It's contagious!"

Bagheera felt a little smile tugging at one corner of his lips. He ran a hand through his hair, sliding it down to scrub at his eyes. "I apologize, Baloo. I was embarrassed."

"Yeah, I know, but you got nothing to be embarrassed about! Now come on, come 'ere…"

Bagheera held up his hands, taking a step away. "Oh, no you don't! You don't have a shirt on!"

"Sure I do! Come on Baghee, you ol' sonofagun!" Baloo grabbed one of his arms and pulled him close, catching him up in an enormous bear hug and mussing his hair with a big hand. Bagheera futilely squirmed and struggled, but he was well and truly trapped. He grumbled and placed his arms around his friend, not nearly as reluctant as he'd rather be.

"All right, all right, you ridiculous brute, let me go."

"And let somebody else steal my dance partner?" Bagheera started squirming again, cheeks burning hotly. Of course, the teasing. Baloo would never be cruel about, but nature demanded that he get his licks in.

"Get off!"

Baloo's response was cut short at the door swung open. Bagheera turned with his heart in his mouth. This just wasn't his night—if it wasn't dancing ridiculously with his best friend, it was being caught in the men's room of a gay bar with him.

"Oh, how frightfully embarrassing. I beg your pardon."

He felt his hackles rise. This was getting absurd. Shere Khan stood just inside the doorway, one eyebrow lifted, wearing an amused smirk. For all that this might've indeed been 'frightfully embarrassing,' it appeared that the other man wasn't willing to do anything to resolve the problem.

Bagheera could feel an explanation on the tip of his tongue, but swallowed it back. He didn't need to explain himself to Shere Khan…why not let him wonder a little?

He shrugged one shoulder, applying his hands to Baloo's chest and attempting to push off. Baloo loosened his arms a little, but not quite enough for Bagheera to get out.

"Shere Khan. Been a while," Baloo observed. Bagheera darted him a confused look—why wasn't he letting him go?

"Quite. It's a pleasure to see you both once more. I can see that you are very…happy together."

Bagheera almost swallowed his own tongue, and then almost burst into laughter. Him and Baloo…together? There couldn't be two more diametrically opposed people on this earth! Clear-headed, calm, serious, responsible (the current evening aside) him and…Baloo? Easy-going, partying, excitable, chronically-irresponsible, straight Baloo? It was absurd! It was hilarious! It was—

Why was Baloo's hand on his ass?

He darted a quick glance up at his friend, and found himself on the receiving end of a discreet little half-wink. Oh, come on. Baloo couldn't be serious. He didn't need to do this for Shere Khan's sake.

"Yeah," Baloo said, leaning low into Bagheera's personal space. He blinked several times, startled as the other man rubbed their noses together. That had to be the most explicit Eskimo kiss in human history! "We are. Right, Baghee?"

Oh, why not. It wouldn't be right to leave Baloo hanging like this. Besides, it would only result in both of them looking like utter fools…and it was rather sweet of Baloo to be willing to pretend just to stick it to Shere Khan for Bagheera's sake.

He pressed himself close. Gracious, but he had to admit that Baloo really was nicely built. All that muscle and hair…he ran his fingertips down the center of his friend's chest, pawing at him lightly. "I don't think 'happy' is a strong enough word, handsome."

"My best wishes," Shere Khan drawled, coming over to one of the sinks and washing his hands. "I assure you, I could not be happier for you."

"Thanks," Baloo said, and Bagheera almost jumped as the hand on his rump gave him a little squeeze. He stewed quietly over ways to get him back for that. "Whaddaya think, babe?" he asked in a soft tone, although there was certainly not a word that escaped Shere Khan's hearing. "You gettin' tired? Should I bring you home, take you to bed?"

Bagheera's eyes widened a bit. "Why you absolute shameless _beast_," he purred, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face. This was fun. "Propositioning me in a men's room. I am horrified."

"That a no?" Baloo was leading him towards the door, a huge arm wrapped around him.

"It's a yes. Definitely a yes," he smirked, sparing a hand to give Shere Khan a little distracted wave. "Nice running into you. Maybe we—ooh, Baloo, get your hand off that."

The bathroom door banged shut behind them.

* * *

><p>They hurried out into the street, but on the way out, Bagheera got a healthy little thrill, realizing that quite a few eyes from the dance floor and the bar followed them out. He couldn't help but preen a little—oh yes, he still had it. Of course, they may have been looking at Baloo, but…he'd take what he could get.<p>

Baloo was laughing. "I was pretty sure he was going to pop a blood vessel, the way he was looking at me! You sure you didn't break his tender heart, Baghee?"

"Positive," Bagheera smirked, swatting his friend's hand away from his lower back. "Now keep those to yourself. We're on a public street—there could be children out here."

"At one in the morning?"

"Fine. Maybe I just don't want to be groped at the moment."

"Got a lot of evidence in the past hour or so that contradicts that, Baghee…"

Bagheera reached up and smacked him, biting down a little grin. "Behave yourself, or I'm going to put you in the trunk to drive home. I don't think your bus runs at this hour."

"Heh, I'd knock your roof in if you tried." Baloo followed him back to Bagheera's car. Vehicles fell outside of 'the bare necessities', so if he wanted to go anywhere far, he always had to beg the car off of Bagheera. "Hey, Baghee?"

"Hmm?"

"You know, that band's playin' again tomorrow night. I'm not doin' anything…wanna go see 'em?"

Bagheera sighed to himself. "Well, I need to do laundry."

"Eugh."

"And I have that book I want to read."

"Bleh."

"And you have laundry, and dishes, and that yard work I asked you to do a week ago…"

"Baghee…" It was always amusing to watch the enormous man whine.

"You pull weeds for me, and I'll go see a band for you," Bagheera said primly, starting the ignition with his nose in the air. Baloo grinned.

"You got a deal, buddy."

* * *

><p>Scar watched Shere Khan stalk back from the men's, looking like he wanted to rip something—or preferably, some<em>one<em>—apart with his bare hands.

"Your quarry appears to have absconded," Scar observed, warm with quiet glee at his companion's obvious bad mood.

"I did not ask your opinion." Shere Khan slipped back into his seat with perfect grace and knocked back his Scotch. Scar lifted an eyebrow—so it was going to be that kind of evening.

"Tread wisely. I take it that your little meeting was unsuccessful?"

"I do not wish to talk about it, Scar." He nearly licked his lips at the latent threat. Everything about Shere Khan was threatening, but this was as close to unrefined as he got.

Scar gave him a droll, mockingly sympathetic little pout and signaled to the bar for yet another round.

* * *

><p><em>UrbanCowgirl804, before her untimely banning from deviantArt, developed a universe where Walt Disney side characters taught princesprincesses/heroes in a high school setting. As you can see, I have taken that idea and run with it. The incarnations are hers, with a healthy dose of muffinpoodle's character designs. Thank you for letting me play with your toys!_


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